You know what I mean. It's like the project is just cursed from the start. It doesn't matter how many times you recalibrate. Maybe even cut new pieces. Take it apart and even start all over again. It's like the Christine of the sewing world - you just can't make it do what it's supposed to. Although I have never had a project so cursed that it's gotten up in the middle of the night and attacked anyone, I'll give you that.
Last June, I started a cutesy little apron for a friend whose birthday was in August. I came across a tutorial online and thought that it would be a nice gift, because she's a Betty Crocker sort of gal. I had enough coordinating fabric in my stash and it started off okay.
...Or did it?
First, I didn't realize that the main piece of the apron was supposed to be right-side-facing-your-body. Because ruffly strips obscure the front anyways, the wrong side was supposed to face outward. Whoops.
Secondly, God forbid I follow instructions ever, and I adjusted the size. Which is fine, except I forgot I had to then adjust the spacing of the strips to avoid a big gap up at the top. Whoops again. The inventor of the seam ripper deserves a throne to the direct right of Jehovah.
But nothing compared to the aggravation of the waistband. It foiled me at every turn, and I must have ripped out the stitches at least 4 times, no exaggeration. So naturally, I did what every good crafter does: dump that bitch on a dining room chair and leave it to collect dust for 9 months.
But it was not content to sit there quietly. Oh no, dear reader, it mocked me at every opportunity. Every time I cleaned (and by "cleaned," I mean, "gathered stuff up and threw it in a nearby closet"), it leered at me, flaunting its raw, undone edges. Every time I sat at the table and tried to enjoy a warm, wholesome meal, its demonic laughter sent shivers down my spine.
In other words, it bugged me that I never did finish it. So tonight I had a bad day at work and I wanted to do some mindless sewing, and I had long resigned myself to just buying my friend something for her birthday. I was soon reminded why I had given up in frustration, but with a lot of iron trickery, it wasn't so bad - or at least, the bad part was hidden at the back once I put it on:
First, I didn't realize that the main piece of the apron was supposed to be right-side-facing-your-body. Because ruffly strips obscure the front anyways, the wrong side was supposed to face outward. Whoops.
Secondly, God forbid I follow instructions ever, and I adjusted the size. Which is fine, except I forgot I had to then adjust the spacing of the strips to avoid a big gap up at the top. Whoops again. The inventor of the seam ripper deserves a throne to the direct right of Jehovah.
But nothing compared to the aggravation of the waistband. It foiled me at every turn, and I must have ripped out the stitches at least 4 times, no exaggeration. So naturally, I did what every good crafter does: dump that bitch on a dining room chair and leave it to collect dust for 9 months.
But it was not content to sit there quietly. Oh no, dear reader, it mocked me at every opportunity. Every time I cleaned (and by "cleaned," I mean, "gathered stuff up and threw it in a nearby closet"), it leered at me, flaunting its raw, undone edges. Every time I sat at the table and tried to enjoy a warm, wholesome meal, its demonic laughter sent shivers down my spine.
In other words, it bugged me that I never did finish it. So tonight I had a bad day at work and I wanted to do some mindless sewing, and I had long resigned myself to just buying my friend something for her birthday. I was soon reminded why I had given up in frustration, but with a lot of iron trickery, it wasn't so bad - or at least, the bad part was hidden at the back once I put it on:
Is it perfect? No. But there is something even better than perfect:
FINISHED.
Taunt me no more, Christine.
1 comment:
Is this part of the Russian Space Program? No American could come up with such a "staged" look, not even in Cincinnati.
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